White Mask censored
by Aragem
Summary: An AU of Darksiders where the Four Horsemen never turned against the Nephilim as told through the eyes of a human slave taken during the Apocalypse. This is a censored version of the story. Please R
1. White Mask

Foreword: This fic is the censored version. The uncut adult version is posted on Adultfanfiction, but I wanted to draw in more readers and get criticism because this story is a special pet project of mine and my first dive into writing first person.

The uncut version of this fic should be considered erotica, but with a plot. I'd like to think of it as Story of O mixed with Darksiders. It's an alternate universe were Death and his siblings made a different decision and chose to remain the Nephilim rampage. The Apocalypse isn't caused by angels and demons, but by the Nephilim taking over the Third Kingdom and ravishing it of its resources, riches, and people.

The majority of the story will take place through the eyes of a victim of the Apocalypse, her name is Yemina. Yes, she is an original character, but trust me, I don't do Mary Sues. Yes, since this is an erotic story, she will have sex with multiple characters, but trust me, this is no romance. She isn't going to redeem anyone or change someone for the better. It's more about her downfall.

This story can be very offensive to people who are sensitive. There is rape, abuse, violence toward women, slavery, and even themes of BDSM. Most of it has been edited or tone down to make it acceptable in . If you want to read the uncut version, then go to and you'll locate it there.

* * *

The world may have been created in seven days, but it ended in three.

Day one, the news had reports of violence spreading across Europe and Asia. That was the last day of my normal life.

Day Two, the violence came to the US. The violence was spreading across states starting from New York City. By midday, within mere hours, the violence spread to Mid USA. That was when I first heard the word Nephilim. On that day, that was the last time I spoke to my parents long distance to California. I told them that I was moving to a protective shelter until the violence stopped. The news, whatever news stations remained in operation, called in an invasion and it was.

The monsters, these Nephilim were powerful and had weapons of unimaginable power. They were tearing through the US military as if it was tissue paper. People were calling it the End Days. They were right.

Day Three, all communications stopped and the human population was dropping as the Nephilim got rid of the unwanted or unneeded. I had cowered in the shelter with others. It was an old bomb shelter left over from the 50's and the steels doors were ripped opened.

That was when I first saw them. They held the appearance of humans, but they were bigger and there was unearthly 'feel' from them that screams not human to me.

An order rang out. Kill the men. And they carried that order out with no hesitation. They killed all the men and even some teenage boys. They paid no heed to the tears, screams, and pleas for mercy. The Nephilim used swords, some used large war axes or hammers, and others even used hand guns.

They herded us out. One Nephilim must have believed that I was dragging my feet and hit me.

Day Four, that was the day I woke up to my new life and nightmare.

* * *

What woke me up, was the pain in my arms. My wrists were suspended by chains descended from small pulleys in the ceiling and when I put weight on my feet, I saw that each of my ankles were ties to opposite sides of the wall spreading my legs apart.

I was still dressed in my jeans and blouse with tennis shoes. The news told us to dress comfortably once reports of shelters went out. I was still wearing my glasses. Not one iota of my clothing has been removed or touched, but there was one addition. A ball gag was shoved into my mouth and my teeth dug into the smooth rubber surface. I could feel the straps around my head holding it in place despite my attempts to spit it out.

In my surroundings, I could tell I was in a basement. The floor and walls were pavement and stone while the ceiling was wood. I could even see sunlight from a rectangular window.

As much I it regrets me to admit this, I did panic. No, I didn't stand there bravely to face whatever may come. I screamed through the gag and rattled the chains as I struggled to get loose. Images from serial killer films rolled through my mind as I imagined a number of bloody things that could happen to me there. And yes, I did imagine being raped as one of those possibilities.

My screaming must have told _him _that I was awake and he waited patiently for my struggles to exhaust me. When I hung silently from my bonds, that was when he came down.

The stairs creaked beneath each thug of a thick boot. Where I was place was opposite the entrance with the wooden stairs leading down turned into the room. I saw his boots first, then the purplish blue pant legs, and then his body descended into view.

His skin was pale with a bluish tint, and it was stretched over a chiseled body. Again the not human bell went off in my head and that frightened me all the more. His shoulders came into view and from this angle I had first believed his had tattooed runes on them.

Then his face came into view, or should I say his mask.

When I first say it, it nearly renewed my panic. A short shriek was stave off by the ball tucked between my teeth. The mask was mouth less skull with a cavernous nose and eye wholes were orange eyes flared. It was framed by thick curtains of jet black hair was hung to his broad shoulders.

I knew what he was before he ever told me. A Nephilim, that was the only thing that he could be.

I pulled back away from him as he approached. It wasn't very far, the chains were meant to give me very little movement. I could feel my panic coming back and he must have sensed it too.

"No more of that now." His voice was thick gravel filling a deep hole, a grave. "I haven't much patience left."

Maybe it was him talking to me that calmed me. A little. It kept my panic at bay. I didn't look at his face; I didn't want to see that white mask. If I continue to look at it, I knew I would go back into hysterics. I instead stared at his chest. It wasn't much better, with his cadaverous skin, but I feared that he would notice if I stared at the floor.

He touched me for the first time then. The first of many times.

He grasped my chin, hard enough to twist my lips and lifted it up. I shuddered as he turned my head back and forth, examining me. In doing this, I caught a glimpse of his mask before I shut my eyes. I felt his hand come up across my cheek over my ear to touch my hair. His hand was rough with callouses which I would later learn were from thousands of years of handling weapons.

"You hair is shorter than I would like, but it'll grow." He released my hair which was certainly short than his ending just at below my jaw line. "Look at me."

I opened my eyes and set them toward his chest.

"No, look at _me." _Again, his hand grasped my chin and lifted it up. He was a good head and shoulders taller than me and he towered over me with intimidation. I would have closed my eyes again, but then his voice took on a sharp edge and he said, "You close your eyes while I'm speaking to you and I will cut off your eyelids. Is that understood?"

I couldn't say anything, the gag was in my mouth, but I nodded. He held me there for almost a solid minute forcing me to visually absorb his mask. I could see the skin around his eyes, a dark shade of blue and his eyelids blinked while inhuman orange eyes stared into mine. Maybe he felt that it was long enough or maybe he saw something in my eyes that satisfied him. He released me and began speaking.

"You're likely wondering why am I here. I'll tell you why. I saw you, and I liked what I saw, and brought you here. Yes, I do plan on using your body in all ways a man can use a woman and nothing is going to happen to stop it. No one is going to 'save' you because there is no one. The Nephilim possesses your world now. My brethren are now dividing up the spoils and you're my spoil. Do you understand me?"

I nodded, though his words were breaking my heart.

"I don't want to hear anything of how I can't do this to you, because I most certainly can and will. I don't want to hear of any retribution from any relatives because they are likely dead and even if they came for me, I'll tell you now, others have sought revenge on me and by how I'm standing here, you can guess that it didn't end well. For them."

I could believe it. He looked powerful and intimating as a black tornado bearing down the highway toward a suburban neighborhood.

He paused, letting his words sink in, then drew a knife from a sheath at his belt.

I panicked again. I jerked on the chains hard enough to bruise and I screamed against through the gag.

He cuffed me across the cheek, "Stop, stop! This isn't for your flesh."

He lowered the blade nearly laying it flat against his leg and pressed a hand against my shoulder as if to sooth me. I couldn't stop shaking, the chains at my wrist were rattling as my hands shook. He muttered a soft curse in a language unknown to what was left of my world and sheathed his blade. I nearly sagged in my bonds from relief.

Then he examined me from the tips of my fingers above my head and down to the bottoms of my feet. And he made a comment about everything that he saw.

He drew a thumb over my finger tips and then stroked the palm of my hand. "You bite your nails. That's fine. I never understood your race's fascination with long nails that just get in the way. Soft hands, good."

He slid his hands along my arms. "Scar here. I suppose from years ago when you were a child? A deep injury that required a healer's attention."

Yes, when I was a girl I had fallen from a tree and had to go to the hospital for stitches. I never climbed trees after that. He could tell that just by looking at a child hood scar that ran along my lower arm?

"Will you be able to see me if I remove these?" An index finger stroked the bridge of my nose lifting and lowering the wire frame glasses. When I nodded, he removed them. He didn't toss them to the floor, but actually folded and placed them on at the edge of a work bench that I noticed for the first time. They were reading glasses that mostly I wear for work and well, reading.

Then it came time for what I had dreaded. One by one, he undid the buttons of my white blouse. I would have shut my eyes if his threat of slicing off my eyelids did weigh so heavily on me.

When he had opened my blouse he held it open studying my bra and stomach which I was sure was flexing due to my hurried breathing. "This is where the knife would have been useful."

He ripped it off. It amazed and horrified at how easily the cloth tore in his hands. My bra soon followed and landed on the remains of my blouse.

Needless to say, I had tears rolling down by cheeks by now. He was standing close enough for me to smell and the scent of leather and earth was on his skin. His mask was looming close and dare not shut my eyes. His threat of slicing off my eye lids still weighed heavily on me. I still tried to lean away. I couldn't see his face, but I could _feel _that he didn't like it, but he didn't say or do anything about it. This time.

Then came the worst. He undid the front of my jeans and shoved as far as they would go down my spread legs. That still gave him a free view of my white cotton underwear. They weren't fancy or had any lace. They were the brand you could buy a pack of from any retail store. The news did say dress comfortably.

A wave of humiliation rolled through me as he ripped them off.

The rest of the jeans came off and he commented on my nice legs while he ran his hands down my calves. Then he finished off by taking off my shoes and socks and the fucker actually had the nerve to tickle the soles of each foot.

I was surprised by my anger toward him. Oh, please know, that I completely understood I had every right to be angry at someone who has taken over my world, had me stolen and strung up, and has now stripped me and touched me against my will, but I had always imagined that I would be scared through and through.

He stood and touched my face. I flinched and that was likely why he pinched my cheek hard. "I'm going to remove your gag. I know you want to cry and I will let you. I'll even let you curse me. You better make it good though as this will be the only time I will allow you to do so."

He removed my gag. I had to open my mouth wider for him to tug the ball free. I swallowed all the saliva I couldn't and rolled my aching jaw. Then I began screaming at him.

I let lose my anger, fear, and hatred at him. I called him bastard, son of a bitch, fucker, and even cock sucker. I even spit at him. But most of all, I cried. I hung my head and cried and mourned my life and everything I had ever known. I knew my freedoms were gone and everything I had taken for granted in my life is no more and it was a very bitter and terrible pill to swallow. It was a pill I had choked on ever since Day One.

He stood there impassively and took the brunt of my despair and hatred. I don't know how long he allowed me to weep. But it ended when he touched my face. Maybe it was to brush away my tears or to tell me it was time to stop, but I flinched. He slapped me then.

That first time, I really had no idea how much he was holding back to keep from hurting me severely. It was later I learned how really strong he was, but the slap startled and numbed me, halted my weeping.

"No more of that," he muttered from behind his mask.

He drew his arms around me, thick arms and I could feel the muscles slide over my skin. His hands drew up my shuddering back and then down. I noticed that his crotch was bulging pressing against my stomach.

"What's your name?" That gravel voice said into my ear.

"Ye-Yemina." He was so close, I said my name against his shoulder which I could see that the rune was carved into his shoulder not tattooed.

"Mina." He rolled the word on his tongue as if tasting it.

"Yemina." I repeated.

"I heard you." He cuffed the back of my head. It didn't hurt, but it startled me all the same. "I choose what I call you." He turned his head, the chin of his mask brushed my head making me grimaced. I didn't want to touch the hateful thing much less look at it. "Do you want to know what to call me?"

The question was rhetorical. We both knew it, but I played my part for him, "Yes . . ."

"Death."

Hearing him say his name brought more fear and his white mask looked more like a skull than ever before.


	2. The House

This is the censored version of White Mask. If you want to read the uncut version that has explicit sex, then go to adult fan fiction.

* * *

I never liked being called Mina. I know it's silly, but something irked in me whenever someone just calls me Mina without putting the Ye in front of it. My name isn't hard to say, so why can't people just say it right?

Why am I telling you about the deal with my name? Maybe it's because I am delaying telling about what happened next.

Death, as he called himself, dropped his hands from my body and stepped around me. The tension in my body was almost painful as I waited for what he would do. There was a click behind me and the chains at my ankles became slack and I could only imagine that he did something to relieve them. With my legs free, I was able to stand properly and take the pressure off my wrists. Was he going to take the chains off? I felt his hand on my back and I yelped in fright.

"Skittish?" He stepped over the chain at my feet to move in front of me. His hand stayed at my back, likely to keep me from backing away from him. The chains above me rattled as I attempted to pull back, but his hand and the chains kept me from getting far. He began to make soft shushing, as if he was calming a goddamn horse.

"St-stop," I murmured.

"No."

Then he raped me. I didn't scream throughout it, because I couldn't. I emotionally and physically detached myself from what was happening. I was spiritually vacating my body to get away from what was happening to it. When he finished, the Nephilim rubbed a hand along the back of my head. the sensation brought me back to a sore and violated body. I think he was concerned that I was going to pass out. Ha, God isn't that kind.

"D-d-don't touch me."

"We're not done yet." He said as he stepped away and I watched him move to the other side of the bench and pick up a metal folding chair. I don't know why, but I had this crazy idea of him hitting me with it and I grimaced when brought it back. He unfolded the chair and set it on the floor, I could see that it was old and had rust patches along the legs and at the edge of the seat.

"How old are you?" he asked almost casually as he picked at the straps bound around his wrists.

His question startled me. I couldn't answer at first before I actually had to think about the answer, I was so distracted by what he had done to me and just by the whole fucking situation. "Twenty-eight."

"Barely three decades," he muttered as he unwrapped a strip of leather from his wrist.

"Are you going to kill me?" It was a question that has been hovering in the back of my mind ever since I woke up chained.

He looked at me, flashing those inhuman eyes on me. And they radiated from behind his skull mask. Why was he wearing that mask? I dropped my eyes, I couldn't handle the intensity of that stare.

"I have no plans to do so. If I wanted to kill you, then I would have done so already. Do you think I would have gone to all this trouble for a simple dalliance? If that was the case, I would have raped you on the grass outside of that bunker and then allowed my brethren to decide what to do with you."

He stepped closer placing a hand at my right wrist. I could feel the strength as he squeezed, just below the pressure that would cause me pain. He grasped my chin and forced my up face up, my nose was nearly brushing the rough surface of his mask. Then he spoke with precise words, "Don't think that because I don't plan on it, doesn't mean I won't. If I am pushed, I am quite capable of very terrible things that would sunder your soul. And don't ever think that death is the worst that can happen to you. I assure you, Mina, that there is far worse than rape and death. Far. Worse."

His words would stay with me for a long time. I swear to God and everything left that is Holy, that his eyes flared at me as he deliver his threat home. I believed him. I completely without one iota of doubt believed that he would deal me great harm if I provoked him. And I would learn later that Death didn't make threats. He made promises.

He undid the chain around my right wrist and then pressed it to my left. Using the leather strap, he tied my wrists together with the leather criss-crossing between them. When he unchained my left wrist, it felt good to lower them and take the strain off them, but I was still shaking.

Then he undid the chains at my ankles, and had just one chain around my bound wrists. He shortened it by turning a handle against the far wall. I had enough slack to sit and lay down, but not enough to stand and do much else. The pavement was cold and uncomfortable and it was hard to sit for long without having to shift my position.

I wanted to bath so badly. I knew it was a bad idea to do so after rape, but who the fuck am I going to report him to? My society was gone. There was no cops, government, or judicial system to hold him accountable for what he had done to me.

And that made me feel little better than a rock. I wasn't a person anymore; I was a spoil of war. That's what he called me. I was a war prize, a little trinket that he found and liked and could use as he liked. I was going to be in this basement for a long time while he fucked me in every way a man could fuck a woman.

I had more tears to cry and I wept heavily. And when I had wept them away, and time had passed, I found more tears to cry. Hours past, and the passage of time could be measured in the light from the window. The sunlight had changed in hue.

When I heard his boots on the stairs again, I backed into a corner with my knees against my chest. They were the only barriers I had.

I saw that he had changed his clothes. He was still shirtless showing of his chiseled bluish skin, but his pants were black and the boots no longer looked ancient, but were black with black straps coiling around from the ankle to the shin. And he was still wearing that mask. Was he wearing it to keep me from knowing who he was? What did it matter if his kind ruled the world?

The pavement crackled under his boots as he walked toward me. Fresh tears, I swear to god I must have wept a gallon today, began to flow down my face as I watched him come. He stopped before me and I couldn't bring myself to look at him.

"I'm going to take you upstairs. I'm going to let you shower and eat. Then we'll talk. After that, I will fuck you again so don't let it come as a surprise." There was no room for compromise or negotiation in his voice. His word was law.

I said nothing. I let him stand me up and unchain my bound wrists. He didn't remove the strap from them. He guided me with him from the basement and up the stairs. We must have looked like a pair out of some BDSM dark fantasy. Him wearing leather from the waist down with his dark hair and skull mask and me nude with bound wrists.

The house surprised me. I thought I was in the basement of some dungeon or prison. No, I was inside a very nice modern house. I glanced around as he walked with me through the house. The living room had a large wide screen plasma tv with a long couch with matching ottomans. That was the only room I could see, the other doors were shut. The hall had pictures of a family of a husband and wife with children: a young preteen girl, a boy of elementary age, and a baby.

"Where are they?" I heard myself asked. I barely recognized my voice, it sounded so weak and drained.

"I don't know. I didn't kill them if that is what you are asking. This place was abandoned when I came here."

Then I noticed for the first time that the electricity was on by the overhead light. "Why is the power on?"

"Because though we may be warriors, we do enjoy running water and electricity that powers these marvels you have called air condition and heaters." Death's voice was thick with sarcasm. "What? You think we liked living as the Vikings and Spartans of your history?"

I was fragile then and I had always been sensitive to attitude and I . . . I was just so breakable then. My eyes blurred as new tears formed, "Don't make fun of me."

"I wasn't . . ." I think he wanted to say more, but didn't. He led me upstairs with an arm around me as if I was an old person who needed his support. I felt as such then.

There was a hallway bathroom with a shower and tub in one. The sink was white with crystal knobs and an arched facet. It was a very nice bathroom and it had been cleaned recently. Maybe the family cleaned up before they left.

Death turned me around to face him and he drew a knife from his person. I screamed and found strength I thought I had lost in the basement. I flung myself away from him, my back hitting the sink's edge so hard I nearly recoiled onto the floor.

"What in the Abyss is wrong with you!?" He snapped losing more of his patience with me. "I'm not going to hurt you!"

"I'm scared of sharp things!" I shouted as I pressed myself against the counter, my terrified eyes on the blade that seemed cold and sharp. The thought of the edge cleaving into my skin sent spiders along my skin.

He stared at me. Irritation and confusion passed through his eyes, "You're frightened of sharp objects? Knives, swords, needles?"

"Yes! I can't stand them!" All my life, I had a fear of sharp objects. My parents attributed it to an event when I was one and I played with my mother's pincushion and I over ten pins stuck into my little hands. It was a phobia, but it was manageable. I used plastic knives for food that needed to be cut or just the side of my fork. It made going to eat out rough because of the possibility of the restaurant serving steak with those jagged stead knives. And don't get me started on getting a blood test from the doctor. I had to take a pill to calm me down and even then I had to have someone hold my hand and look away. The stitches from my childhood were no picnic. I literally had to be held down by my parents and a nurse so the doctor could work.

He continued to stare at me and then he sheathed the knife. "Fine. Come here, I have to untie the leather by hand before of your 'fear'." He said it as if it was quirk and there was amusement underlining it.

When he untied me, he stepped back, "I'm waiting outside. You have ten minutes to bath by yourself. Take any longer and I'm joining you."

He shut the door leaving me along. I was eager to shower and I turned on the hot water, letting it get as hot as I could stand, if not more so. The shower was at a high pressure setting and the pray struck me with hot needles that seemed to pierce into my skin. Good, if I could, I would shed the top layer of my skin to feel clean.

I slapped at the wall with an angry scream, hard enough to hurt my palm. Then I bathed hard. I used a generous amount of shampoo and then rubbed my skin pink with a loofa. When I finished, there was a white robe which a pulled on and double knotted at the front.

He must have heard me turned off the water because the door opened and he reached out to take my arm. If he had an opinion of me wearing a robe, he didn't voice it. I was so grateful to have the thick cotton between my skin and hand. I didn't want him to touch me anymore than was absolutely necessary.

He led me back downstairs and into a very, I mean very, nice kitchen. The counters were dark granite and the appliances were those I recognized from those commercials that you'd had to call in and order to get the super saver deal. There was a kitchen counter with stools where kids likely had lunch and the mother cooked and a round dinner table where family meals took place. In the corner by the table, I noticed the high chair and I felt sad for the family that had lived here. I hope they were safe somewhere.

Death had me sit on a tall stool at the counter and he moved to a microwaved that was mounted into a cabinet above the stove. It was surreal the seeing him open the microwave and draw out a Campbell microwavable soul bowl. It had already been heated as I can smell it.

"How do you know how to microwave soup?" It was a very stupid question, but remember, I wasn't exactly altogether then.

"I can read instructions." Death turned the bowl in hand and tapped the detailed instructions with helpful pictures with a fingertip. He set the soup in front of me and opened a drawer and provided a spoon. "At least you're not afraid of spoons."

I didn't have an appetite. I kept tasting _him_ on my tongue, but I did take the spoon and stirred idly at the broth and its contents. I lifted my eyes when I felt him staring at him.

"You're not eating."

"I'm not hungry."

"You humans are weak when you don't eat."

"I'm okay."

"Fine, I'll talk while you not eat." He sounded peeved and I just did not care. "Mina . . . ."

"Yemina." I interjected. I felt the brunt of a heated glare and I quickly regretted it.

"Don't test me, _Mina." _Death stated, "We already had a chat about that downstairs. I don't like repeating myself."

"I'm sorry." I even made myself eat a spoonful of soup just to make amends. The soup tasted good and it sparked my hunger and I found that I could eat after all.

As I spooned more of the soup into my mouth, he spoke, "Do you like being upstairs? Not chained downstairs waiting for my attentions?"

He stopped talking and it took me a minute to realize that he wanted me to answer the question. "I . . .I don't like being chained."

"I know. And you don't have to be. You can have free reign of this house as long as you obey and don't try to leave. You can shower when you want, cook what you want to eat, and even have one of the bedrooms as your own."

I squeezed the spoon so hard it was trembling in my hand. The other shoe was going to drop soon.

He leaned forward. His hands on the counter surface as he leaned towards me. "To have these privileges, you'll do what I want. And when my brothers come around, you'll do what they want as well."

My appetite was gone. I dropped the spoon into soup and shrank away huddling in my robe. So I wasn't just for him. I was for any Nephilim that happen to visit. I think the soup I've eaten was going to make a reappearance.

"If you want to ask questions, you may."

"This isn't right." I heard myself say. "I don't want . . . I don't want to . . . please, I don't want to."

"But you're going to," Death said firmly. "Don't beg, Mina. If you are begging, it means that you are done eating and we can move onto the next part of our day."

No, no, I had just been cleaned and I felt better. I didn't want him to . . .no! I threw the bowl of soup at him and as if he knew what I was going to do, he . . . was simply not there. He moved so fast, I didn't see him move around the table to my side. He gripped my wrist and hauled me off the stool. My arm was twisted around my back and an arm across my neck. I shrieked, my legs and free arm flailing.

"Mina, stop fighting me." He wrenched my arm up between my shoulders. I stopped moving as the pain cut off my breath. He lifted me up, clasping me to his chest; my feet left the floor, nearly choking me against his arm. He leaned close and I could hear his breath buffeting against the inside of his mask, "You have a choice. It's a poor choice, but a choice nonetheless, and that is a privilege many in your position do not have. I am going to fuck you again, now it can be downstairs on the cold hard floor with chains. I can adjust those chains to hold you in whatever position I want by the way. Or we can go upstairs to the master bedchamber we can do it on a soft bed. You have until you clean that mess to decide."

He released me. I wish I could say that I refused, fought, cursed him, or even tried to run. I didn't. I did what he said. I cleaned up the spilled soup with paper towels tucked away in the corner of the counters lining one side of the kitchen. It only took me minutes to clean up the mess, but it might as well have been hours. My mind kept tossing back and forth between sticking by what pride I had left after leaving the basement and being returned there to endure the chains again or follow with logic and safety and just give him what he wanted so I had freedom.

When I tossed the empty bowl and soiled paper towels into the garbage, he was still watching me waiting for my answer. I saw the cold neutrality in his eyes. It made no difference to him whether I chose the bedroom or the basement. I chose the bedroom.

He had me walk in front of him. He may have believed that I would break again and attempt to flee. I didn't and in a strange way I was proud of my nerve. When we got to the top of the stairs, he took my arm and led me down the far hall.

I could feel him close behind me when we stepped through the door, I heard it close.

"I want to ask some questions," I said quickly as his hands touched my robe.

"Trying to delay me?"

"You said I could ask questions." The cotton robe was sliding down my shoulders.

His dry chuckle was like rough fur down my back, "So I did. Go ahead and ask your questions."

"What . . . what are you?"

He was undoing the double knot at my belt. "What am I? I believe your information providers told your people we were Nephilim."

"But they . . ." the robe fell in a pile of cotton at my feet, " . . .couldn't say exactly what you are and where did you came from?"

His arms curled around me. Maybe it was because we were talking that kept me calm while he explored me, but I didn't feel that creeping panic that had been a constant companion since waking up in the basement.

Maybe he knew that talking to me kept me calm so he obliged me. "To answer that question would take more time than I am willing to spend right now. The short of it is that we do come from another world, but we're not your science fiction aliens." His voice was heavy, or heavier than his usual gravel.

"Why . . .why did you kill so many people . . .?"

He stopped. His hands stopped their caressing and he his breathing paused as well. Thinking back on it now, my question had been one he had expected and dreaded to answer, but it still caught him off guard. He moved his hands to my arms and they slid up to my shoulders which he grasped as if he intended to give me a massage. "We're Nephilim, Mina. Conquest and killing is what we do."

"S-so, no reason? You killed so many people for no reason?"

He turned me around quickly as if I was a puppet on strings. From the skull holes in his mask, I could see that his eyes had lost their usual glow. When I had said many people, I had meant the people of my world. I had no idea that the Nephilim had been rampaging across countless worlds for eons. "We have our reasons, but they are reasons you wouldn't understand."

Then I asked one last question and this had been a question I had ever since I first saw him. "Why don't you take your mask off?"

I swear to God, the temperature in that room dropped by several degrees. His glares flashed from somber to anger so quick it was startled me. For that moment, I thought he was going to hit me. He didn't hurt me, but I think the thought was there all the same.

"The mask does not come off. It's not because I can't take it off." He slopped his hands against the sides of my neck as he might choke me and I dearly feared that he would. He moved his hands up to cup my cheeks, "Stop delaying me."

Then I was raped again. I remember pressing my face into the pillow and mentally fled from what was happening to me. I was no stranger to sex having been married for a few years, but what should have been given in love and pleasure was forced on me with pain and blood.

When it was over, I was trembling so hard I heard my teeth chattering in my mouth. He touched my back and he leaned over me. I cringed from his closeness, my hands covering my face. If I see that bone mask, I would vomit what little I have eaten. "Grab some clothes from the closet so you'll have something to wear tomorrow. I believe the daughter's clothes may be too small for you. If the wife has nothing that'll fit, tell me and I'll get some for you."

God, make him stop sounding kind when he was a horrible rapist bastard.

"Don't leave the house. You'll be tempted to leave, try to run away, but I assure you will not get far. I'll find you and depending on my mood, I'll either you painfully or just drag you back here and keep you chained as dog in the basement."

God, stop answering my prayers, please.

"You may go."

I went.


End file.
